


Embers

by Fairy (laterie)



Category: GOT7
Genre: Adventure, Alchemist Mark Tuan, Alchemy, Fantasy, Love, M/M, Magic, Prince Jackson Wang, there's a cat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:26:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26531356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laterie/pseuds/Fairy
Summary: Jackson looked at him over his shoulder, “what are you saying? That it was love at first sight?”“In my case, yes.”
Relationships: Mark Tuan/Jackson Wang
Comments: 29
Kudos: 65





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I can't believe I started this as a short one-shot for Mark's birthday. It has almost 18k words. I'm crying blood and my bones are being melted into tears too. Guys...
> 
> HAPPY BELATED BIRTHDAY MARK. I hope your birthday was magic and full of miracles.  
> Love you a lot.

_Would you lit a fire in a room full of dragons?_

The book with leather cover and golden letters engraved in it slipped from Mark's hand and fell on his bedroom floor with a low thud. It was past midnight, and he was trying to get some reading done when lightning split open the skies, and that moment Mark _knew_ he was done with the book. He fell asleep faster than you would say _horseshit._

His love for rain could be dated back to when he was just a boy running through the woods and searching for mushrooms and herbs for his father's tavern. Mark was considered a miracle child from a young age – he was always ahead of his peers, and his wits could have been measured with adults. He spent long nights sitting in the tavern corner or back in the kitchen, reading books his father bought for him or the guests forgot in the place. Mark was so brilliant that he even learned reading and writing independently. Mighty knights, and sometimes noblemen, would stop by on their long travels and get some refreshments. As the boy with the most enchanting eyes, Mark always had managed to steal their attention and ask about their battles and creatures they have met on their long travels. 

Rainy days, when the tavern was creaking how full it was, Mark would spend by his father, helping him and sometimes getting into unwanted trouble - but these situations were rare.

The tavern's fireplace was massive, and Mark could still remember the orange and red lazy tongues of fire licking the woods. He was hypnotized by the power that man once tamed into small chimneys and pits. 

Fire and water. 

When it was raining outside, and the droplets were beating the glass, the fire was still burning the wood protected by the same material so it wouldn't get put out.

What a strange world.

But he was no boy now, and falling asleep with a book full of legend was not appropriate for a young man running his own shop. But call Mark _anything,_ and he would probably shrug and take your money anyway since you came to buy things and not his sympathy. 

Mark's intelligence was no secret in the kingdom where a king was nothing but supportive of his scientists and doctors. Mark's occupation was drifting away from astronomers and doctors' path. Some of the villagers called him _a charlatan; some_ asked the king to move him to behind the kingdom borders, behind the woods. But how far Mark should move, when he already lived in the middle of the woods? His house was built on a clearing near a creek where he could get fresh waters when the well went dry after hot summer. 

His childhood dream was to have a small herb field next to his house, with tomatoes and a stall for his horse—a shop where anyone could buy anything. Nobody ever left with empty hands. Mark's prices were _always_ correct. 

Like that woman who came to cure her lousy eyesight as if Mark was a god and he—

Mark jerked awake, his dream about his youth shattered into pieces as a loud bang on his door continued to shake his core. It took him a while until he could get from the bed and wear pants to his loose, laced shirt. 

A coal-black cat jumped from the window on the bed and mewled at him. She followed Mark downstairs to the front door, where the pounding was echoing within his shop's glass. Mark opened the latch when another fist went into the air, and it almost hit his face. 

"Alchemist!" an old man peaked from behind the king's guardian, "you are here! Very good!"

"I almost stopped being here," Mark eyed the armored man who looked away, evidently trying to ignore the fact that he almost broke Mark's nose. 

"I'm Shaara!" The old man was soaked wet from standing in the heavy rain, "one of the king's advisers."

Mark lazily leaned against the door, "just tell me what you need in this unholy night."

"King's son has fallen ill."

Still unmoved by the sentiment, Mark sighed, "you have the best doctors pacing in the castle, scratching their asses how bored they are. I'm sure they know what to do with a runny nose." 

"We sure have," he frowned, "but the prince's illness is terrible."

"Like the last time, he was picking blackberries and got jabbed into his finger?"

The adviser gasped, "his whole hand got swollen!" 

Mark rolled his eyes. He had known the prince since their childhood. The doctors thought then that he got bitten by a snake and tried to suck the venom out. When Mark arrived, the prince was already so pale while the tourniquet tied his right hand. The prince was so bloodless and almost unconscious when Mark kicked out the doctors and locked the door. It was just an infection that Mark cured after he pulled out the thorn. Then the prince showed him their library and didn't want to let go of Mark. He called him ' _my personal healer'_ and begged his father for Mark to stay. 

"What happened?" Mark asked, the rain putting him back to sleep. 

"Red cold." The words almost got lost into the humming of the rain as the adviser whispered the sickness's name as if it was a curse. 

Well, it _was a_ deadly illness. 

It surprised Mark to hear someone that noble as the prince could catch the sickness of the poor. Dirt, ordure, poor hygiene, and a shared life with animals could bring terrible horror upon a man. What was the prince doing in the slums, far behind the river where only the plague doctors were brave enough to step? As Mark knew the young lord, it wasn't as surprising as it sounded, but still, nobody could stop him? 

"How?"

Shaara looked uncomfortable and tried his best to address the awkward topic without feeling shameful, but there was no need to hide in front of the alchemist who could see through the adviser's façade.

"Our young lord loves to take his horse for long rides. We warned him, of course, not to go to the west, but he…" Shaara lowered his head between his shoulders, "alchemist, please come with us." 

"I need to hear the whole story," Mark gripped the door's handle, "and it would be better if you could bring his highness here. The treatment is long, and I need my lab for that."

"But our doctors and scientist have the best laboratories in the whole kingdom!" 

"Don't lie!" Mark accused him, "now, tell your guards that they need to bring Jackson into my house, and you will stay here and tell me how exactly he got infected by the Red cold." 

"Did you call our prince by his name?" one of the guards asked, shocked, "should we arrest him?"

"Fools, go!" Shaara punched the armored man into his plated chest and hissed at the pain, "do what he said! Tell the king that they need to bring young lord here as fast as they can. I'll stay here with the alchemist."

"The king won't be pleased with such news."

"Oh, what do you even know! You're just a guardian!" the old man barked, "this man here healed our young lord multiple times, and you have no idea! Now, go and stop arguing with me, you!" he whacked the tall man's head. 

Mark watched him with amusement, "come inside," he let the old man enter, and when the soldiers were about to complain, he shut the door and closed the latch. 

"Do you want some tea?" Mark asked, picking up his cat from the floor, "put your coat over there." He pointed at the fireplace. 

"Your house is very cozy." 

Mark smiled, "this part is a shop. I live upstairs. Follow me." Mark led the adviser to the kitchen in the back of his house.

To think about the prince and his pretty face as he was suffering – it was anxious for the alchemist to even think about it. Over the years, they managed to sharpen their relationship, and now being in the most unusual friendship, Mark felt that it was too personal. He wanted to help Jackson at any cost, but he couldn't let the guards and advisers see more than just a professional business between the king's son and a mere alchemist. 

Mark could imagine what happened in the west and why Jackson probably went in there. Always kind-hearted and ready to help any animal, Jackson probably wanted to see the situation with his own eyes and got too close to the infected people who lived with the sickness for years and could adapt to it. 

"He's still young and foolish," the old man sat down behind the kitchen table, "forgive me for these harsh words, but at his age, he should be getting married and get ready to take over the throne." 

"I don't see why," Mark set the fire in the kitchen's fireplace, "our king is still capable of reign, and the prince still has a lot to learn." 

"He's twenty already," Shaara's grey brows furrowed, "he's ready to find a spouse."

Mark put the kettle over the fire and turned to the adviser with an amused smile, "a _spouse,_ you say? Not a wife, or a princess, simply _a spouse_?" 

"You have such venom in your voice, young man, I don't like it."

Mark snorted, "so, our prince can marry _anyone_?" 

"I didn't say that!" 

Shaara was an adviser but such a foolish man. The kingdom was full of men like him, and Mark only wished that with Jackson taking the throne, many things could change – the first could be more women in the adviser chairs. 

"So," Mark put out two ceramic cups, "if I would like to marry our prince, would you give us your blessing?" he couldn't help but tease the old man. 

"What are you saying, alchemist! Your tongue is so bashful."

 _Bashful._

Mark put a mix of herbs into the cups and filled them with hot water to the brims. One could only imagine what would happen if Mark would steal Jackson away if he would lock him here in his house and then mysteriously disappear. Mark was hardly an ordinary _alchemist._ Whatever people imagined his profession was, Mark was sure neither of them actually _knew._

"What was the prince doing in the west?" Mark changed the topic as he set the cups on the table. 

The old man hung his head in disappointment before he wrapped his bony fingers around the cup, "he's too young to understand that not everyone wants to be saved."

"Wise words, but," Mark nodded and sat down on the opposite chair, "people often normalize their abuse." 

"Our king tried many times."

"I don't doubt _that."_

Mark looked at the fireplace and then at the candle burning in the window. He always set one at night so the wanderers could come to seek help on cold nights. Mark crossed his legs and sipped from the hot tea, the herbs still swimming in the water. He chewed them and sighed. 

"How long since the prince got infected?"

"Three long days since it broke out."

Mark stood up to bring the strainer, "I only hope the doctors diagnose right."

" _Oh,_ it sure is," Shaara nodded, "the prince has red spots on his body, his throat is swollen, and he can barely move."

"That sounds like Red cold." Mark decanted the herbs from the tea and put the adviser's cup back, "I'll get the lab ready soon. How long till the guardians would bring the prince?"

"Depends on the heavy rain."

"Rain or not," Mark crossed his arms over his chest, "the carriage would protect him. Three days is long enough. What medicine the doctors gave him?"

The old man stared at him, his mind blank until he realized he had a letter from the king hidden in his coat. He swore at himself, and Mak watched him as he was pacing back to the shop where he's left the latter.

Mark sat back and looked into the fire, "Red cold, _huh_? Jackson…" he shook his head with a smile, "you will never change." 

**

The morning came sunny and fresh, with birds chiming happily in the trees. Mark was asleep on the bench in his shop, a blanket folded under his head, and his cat slipping on his stomach. He let the old man sleep by the fireplace in the kitchen. It was a long night, and they didn't sleep longer than three hours when nature has woken them up. Mark painfully rolled from the bench onto the wooden floor and cried loudly when his back snapped. His cat mewled and jumped on him, her soft paws massaging the sore muscles. 

"I already know what to ask from the king for curing his son," Mark moaned at the sensation of his cat's paws, "a massage from the prince could be nice." He giggled against the floor. 

With the prince in his house, Mark couldn't risk opening his shop for a few days or a whole week. He knew that the guardians would be sneaking around and won't let him alone with Jackson, but one couldn't have eyes everywhere, and Mark was sure that whatever will happen in his house would stay in there forever. 

"I need to wash," he stood up and pulled his sweat drained shirt over his head when he heard horses from his front yard. 

Mark peaked through the closed window to see a camouflaged carriage stopping in front of his house. Oh, his tomatoes. Mark frowned and put the shirt back before unlocking the door and cursing the men to their third generation. He ordered the carriage to move from his plants, or he would swear to god. The guardians exchanged looks and sent the horses back.

"The prince is here," one of the men put his hood down to reveal his face, "my name is Lim Jaebeom. I'm prince's guardian, and I will stay with him until it's needed." 

Mark only nodded, having only a hazy memory of the guardian, "we should bring him inside. Any other letters from the king?" 

Jaebeom rested his hand on the handle of his sword, "a few, yes." 

There was something eerie around the whole venture, and not even the colorful leaves and chirping of birds could tone down the tension. The carriage was stripped of the emblems to provide enough safety, but the darkness, the anxiety, and the death grip were written all over the wood and metal construction. A shiver went down Mark's spine. 

Mark opened the carriage door. 

He saw Jackson being huddled under numerous blankets and pillows to provide him all the comfort. He was sleeping and evidently had a fever since the place reek of sweat. Mark wasn't doing better, wearing his shirt and only leather pants heating his skin. 

"Please," Jaebeom appeared behind Mark, "save him."

Mark put his bare foot on the step and hold onto the door to look at Jackson. The red spots were covering even his face. Never in his life, Mark thought he would see the always cheerful man into such a pitiful state. Mark's heart clenched at that sight. Over the years, he had helped Jackson with many problems beyond the doctor's abilities as the thorn infection, overwhelming sadness, or allergy to spicy food. 

Jackson was a fighter, so Mark had no doubts he would outwit even this beast. 

"Help me to bring him inside." 

"Jaebeom! Jaebeom!" the voice of the old adviser interrupted them. He was waving at them from the window, "what's the news?! What are kings' words?"

"You, old man!" the guardian called, "you are ordered to come back!" 

"Is that his majesty order?"

"Queen's order!"

"Oh!" 

**

Mark had his lab prepared that night when the old man came knocking on his door. A pallet of blankets and pillows was set in the middle of his working place. Mark had to reorganize the tables and instruments so he could get Jackson safely on the makeshift bed. Jaebeom commented on the lab – that he felt like he stepped into a witch dungeon. Mark snorted at that and only shook his head. For his shop's whole existence, only two persons were allowed to lay their foot there, and since Mark needed the guardian's hands, it couldn't be helped. 

"How many witch dungeons have you seen?" Mark asked while examining Jackson's face. 

"None," the man deadpanned as he was carefully walking around and trying to fight the urge to touch every possible object he laid his eyes upon. 

"I noticed," he remained standing in the corner, "you're not wearing any gloves, not even boots. The doctors in the castle won't let us touch him without gloves."

Mark peeled the front blanket from Jackson, "I'm an alchemist. I don't need that."

"That sounds pretentious." 

"Believe in whatever you want." 

In the middle of the examination, Mark had no time to answer Jaebeom's question or question Mark's actions. He was used to working alone and in peace and not with a sneaky guardian behind his back. He shortly eyed the tall man who was now looking into one of Mark's test-tubes. It was only a matter of time until he would touch something or stumble upon a table and break his precious glass. 

It was better to give him some work. 

"Why don't you go out and bring me fresh water from the creek? It's down behind the house."

"We passed it on the way here," Jaebeom nodded, "will you be alright here?"

Mark gave him a look before he stood up and turned to his worktable. It was enough of a gesture for Jaebeom not to ask further. Once alone, Mark opened one of his hand-written books and went through it until he found a note on the page's bottom. He had to be stupid somehow to write a two-word legend under the Red cold article instead of the whole treatment. 

"Stupidity is endless," he snorted.

But Mark knew how to treat the sickness. He only wanted to be easier since reading would open his mind wider while fishing into his memory would take more time, and Jackson didn't have that _much_ time. 

Mark stripped Jackson off his clothes and brought the clean ones that Jaebeom left in the shop. He counted the red stains, though it wasn't important how many it was because Jackson's body was painted with it. Good, that none was festering. 

"Alright," Mark cupped the prince's cheek in one of his palms and looked at his sleeping face, "you have to help me. I know it hurts, and sleep is the best cure, but I need you to help me." 

Jackson was fragile, pale, and looked so unhealthy and bony – he lost a lot of weight during the past days. It was unbelievable how fast the sickness was taking over his usually healthy and strong body. Twenty years, so young and ambitious, but already on a death bed.

Death bed? Not in Mark's house. 

"Oh, lords! He's naked!" Jaebeom's high pitched voice shattered the whole atmosphere. 

"I need to clean him up, so of course he'd be naked!" 

"I don't need to see my prince naked!" 

"Jaebeom!" Mark hissed at him, "bring me the water and then go _whatever_!" 

"I'm not supposed to leave my prince's body!" 

"Then stare into the wall!" 

What a _dumbass._ He was acting like he's never seen a naked man. Mark rolled his eyes as he stood up from the prince's bed and went to take the bucket with water. He couldn't help himself but pinch Jaebeom's asscheek as the other ears were red as the tomatoes in Mark's garden. The guardian squealed, embarrassed, and rubbed the sting away from his muscle. 

"How old are you again?"

"Very _old,"_ Mark mysteriously answered as he poured some of the water into a bowl.

"I heard stories about you."

Mark got on his knees beside Jackson to start to wash his body. "And what stories?" 

Mark exactly knew what people were chatting about during the cold winter nights – sitting in the warm taverns while having nothing better to do than analyze other people's lives. Mark grew up in such an environment, and also he heard these stories first hand when he traveled through the kingdom. The west side of the domain resembled a bunch of old wives' tales. Some villagers' minds were dull and full of fear. The knowledge was expensive in this corner of the land. Either they had never heard of an alchemist or believed he was a necromancer, a devil who possessed a human's body. 

"That you're immortal." 

"That's a good one," Mark smiled and dipped the cloth into the cold water, "shame that I look as old as I feel." 

Jaebeom peaked over his shoulder, "how old are you?"

"How old do I look like?" he started to clean the prince's body from his shoulders. 

"Like a kid, to be honest."

"What flattery," Mark rinsed the cloth, "I might start crying once you leave." 

Jaebeom frowned and turned his head back, "they even say that you use animal bones and blood to make your potions." 

"No alchemist would ever use one living creature's life to heal another," Mark narrowed his eyes at the guardian's back. 

"What does it even mean, _alchemist_? Is it like a sorcerer or something?" 

Mark sighed when he brushed his hand against Jackson's bare chest. He was so warm that it was a miracle he could still breathe. When he read the list of medications the doctor used to heal him, it surprised him that the fever wasn't down yet. They put his body into a cold bath and even used some of the herbs Mark recommended the last time he visited the castle.

"Alchemist is a philosopher, a scientist, a doctor, a teacher, a person who lives in harmony with nature. We split stone to raise a flower." 

"Alright," Jaebeom said lightly, "not like I get it, but I guess no mojo at midnight and no dance with the wolves in the dark woods for you?"

Mark considered it, "no, but I've always wanted to try to dance with wolves." 

"So, you possess no magic?" Jaebeom turned around right in that moment when Mark was cleaning Jackson's private parts, "not his _peepee,_ oh god! My eyes!"

"His _what_?!" Mark was on his four, with one of his hands resting on Jackson's side to give him some mental support. A touch could often do more than thousands of words. 

"I saw him growing up! This is too much!" Jaebeom covered his eyes with his hand, "why do you touch his place like that? He's a man!"

"And I am here to save his life!" Mark said sternly, "so I will touch him where it's needed. His body is getting rid of the infection through his pores. We cannot leave Jackson covered in sweat!" 

After that, Jaebeom hardly said a word and left Mark working in silence. Once Jackson was clean, Mark dressed him into s simple laced shirt and cotton pants. He left the cold compress on Jackson's forehead and one folded behind his spine. When Mark cleaned the used cloth and the empty bowl, he asked Jaebeom to bring fresh water and fruits from the kitchen. 

Mark sat on the floor next to Jackson and gently stroked his hair, "I need you up. The medicine you need must be to drink and eat. I know they did horrible things to you."

His fingers gently ran across the prince's wounded wrist, "I left it uncovered so it would heal faster on the air. They used bloodletting on you." 

What a massacre. 

"I would do anything, so there would be no scar." Mark gently grabbed his hand and pressed his lips against the abused skin. "I used an ointment. Do you remember when you fall from the horse as a kid, and they put a magic ointment on the bruises?" 

Jackson's breathing was steady, and even his skin looked healthier after he washed him. However, Mark couldn't do much until Jackson would wake up. ' _Clean blood'_ was the two-words legend in the book that Mark had opened. But how do you clean blood without bloodletting? As an alchemist, Mark knew _ways, and_ he had it even tested on sick animals.

What would it be? 

Mark cocked his head on the side, watching Jackson's handsome face, and he thought: _what to do to bring you back, to make you smile. To see your cheeks red and full, see your face flush with embarrassment when I compliment you…_

It was a long day, and the evening carried away the chirping and brought the cicadas. The humidity in the air was signaling the rain. Mark was getting sleepy by the atmosphere when a sudden shattering snapped him out of his thoughts. There he was – Jaebeom stood by the door with an apologizing expression on his face and a shattered glass under his feet. 

Mark sighed but didn't comment on what he once proclaimed as irreversible. He got up to help Jaebeom with the water and food when he got a spasm into his leg and cursed loudly: _bloody hell._ It was bright like lightning on the dark sky – the thought, a sudden idea popped into his mind. 

" _Sanguisorba Officinalis! "_ Mark yelled at the clueless Jaebeom. 

**

It turned out that Mark remembered it all at once that night. Jaebeom had never seen a person freaking so much over two Latin words. But what he knew, anyway? He was left alone with Jackson, guarding him with his life and telling him stories while Mark saddled his horse and went into the woods. It took him a full two hours to come back. Mark was drenched and cold pale when he strode down the stairs with a sack full of herbs. 

That night neither of them get any sleep. Mark was working on the potion urging Jaebeom to bring him _that_ and _that_ and also change the water and the compress. Jaebeom managed to broke two more glass tubes. The second got him a whack from Mark, who ordered him to stay by Jackson's side and talk to him. 

Jaebeom talked about Mark being bossy and didn't understand what Jackson has seen on such a grumpy _dude._ He even said, ' _he touched your wee-wee."_

It was a weird smell and a mist that lazily licked the lab's ground that made Jaebeom freak out. He jumped on his feet and pointed at the witchcraft, but Mark was fast asleep on the table and silently snoring into the wood while the ghostly mist was embracing his body. It was the rain's fault, as Mark explained later. It always put him to sleep, and Mark was _so-so_ weak against it.

"Is it done?" Jaebeom asked, trying to avoid the hellish fog. 

"That, oh yes…" Mark cleared his throat and put out the flame. 

"Why there's such a mist? What does it mean?"

"It's the reaction between too many different structures," Mark stood up, "in other words when a fire is burning, there's often a smoke." 

Jaebeom nodded, but Mark could still feel his eyes on his back, "now, how is he doing? We need him up so he would drink our magic potion." Mark wiggled his fingers.

"You're scary." Jaebeom deadpanned.

"Oh, come one," the alchemist snorted, "look at my face." 

"Cutely scary." 

**

After a long arguing, Mark let Jaebeom sleep in his bed while he stayed in his lab to watch Jackson. It was the third night, and Jackson's fever was getting lower successfully. Mark swore to the old gods that he would smack the doctors' heads once he would get the opportunity to sneak into the castle. Mark even brought his cat Nyx down into his lab to alarm him if he would fall asleep. The rains were constant, as if the whole heavens were crying for Jackson. 

While eating an apple, Mark prepared tea for himself and put some clean water into the bowl to moisten Jackson's lips. He then opened the book he had left unfinished upstairs when the adviser came knocking on his house and read it from the beginning to Jackson. 

One part of the story brought a specific memory to Mark. He even laughed at it, remembering the whole afternoon when Jackson was trying to teach him to ride the horse to find out that Mark was already a professional. 

"I'm still not sorry, tho," Mark giggled, putting another apple core into an empty bowl. When Mark turned the page, he spotted out of the corner of his eyes that Jackson was looking at him. 

Mark freaked out for a second, his book jumping in his hands and almost hitting his chin, "dear lords."

Jackson's stare was intense but also tired and hazed by a cloud of the sickness. Mark quickly put the book down and bent down to Jackson to examine his face. He compared their temperature by leaning their foreheads together. With a smile, Mark withdrew away. 

"Welcome back, your majesty." 

Mark changed his cold compress, "I knew you'd make it."

It was pretty much a one-sided conversation, but Mark hadn't expected Jackson to talk to him immediately after he would open his eyes. He must have been confused and scared, so Mark explained to him where he was and what was happening and that the doctors who left him bleeding on the bedsheets even worsened his state because his body got too weak to fight the disease. 

"You're safe with me," Mark kissed his forehead, "I can't wait to hear your voice again." 

Wasting no time, Mark poured the healing potion into a cup and helped Jackson sit up and lean against his body to drink comfortably. Jackson's whole back was wet from the sweat; even his hair was plastered on his skin and muddled. Mark brought the cup to the prince's lips. 

"Slowly, I know it tastes like drinking your own blood, but I promise you, it's just a herb mixed with garlic, honey, pain medicine, alcohol, and water. No, you won't get drunk." 

Jackson swallowed, and Mark gave him enough time to catch his breath. 

"I know your neck is swollen, but I couldn't do anything about it without proper medicine. We have to finish the whole cup, Jackson." 

It took a few painful coughs and cries, but Jackson finished his medicine. When Mark wanted to put him back onto the bed, Jackson groaned disapprovingly and tried to lift his hand to stop Mark from letting him go. How much Mark wanted to take the pain away and bring the shining smile back on Jackson's face, how much he wished to absorb his tears and worries so he would never wear a frown on his face again. He held Jackson in his arms, singing him a soft song while stroking his hair. The pain had to be unbearable. 

"We'll get through this, I promise." 

When Mark couldn't hold himself up anymore, he laid them together on the pallet and held Jackson until they fell asleep. The night was restless, full of Jackson's painful groans and Mark waking up frequently to change the compress on Jackson's swollen neck. They got back to sleep, with Jackson curled against Mark's chest and tightly gripping his shirt. When Jackson was up numerous times already, he tried to tell Mark that the bubbly sounds of the potions circling in the tubes kept him awake. Well, it looked more like frustrating hand fencing. Mark was cluelessly watching Jackson pointing at the lab instruments only so he could later explain to Jackson why he could not put the burner out because the liquid had to circulate because of the sediment. Jackson whined, and when Mark got back to the bed, Jackson buried his face into his chest. 

It was a lot of moving for someone who was barely awake a few hours ago. 

Mark smiled for himself. 

**

"Why didn't you wake me up?" Jaebeom yelled.

"Stop being overdramatic," Mark rolled his eyes, "he regained consciousness in the middle of the night. You needed the rest, so I wouldn't have to take care of two sick persons." 

Jaebeom frowned but didn't say a word as he stepped closer to his prince, who was lying on the changed blankets with more pillows under his head and a different set of clothes. Mark even cleaned him again. How long _the hell_ has he been sleeping? Wait, did Mark changed his prince's clothes while the prince was awake? 

"Scandalous!" his ears got red upon imagining the scene. 

Mark was visibly tired from Jaebeom treating him like some molester when all he did was taking care of their prince in the best and most appropriate ways. He didn't spare second thinking about Jackson's body differently than that Jackson is his patient. 

"Don't upset him," Mark turned to his worktable, "he still can't talk, and I don't need his vein to pop up on his head." 

"I'm sorry, Your highness," Jaebeom bowed, "I'm glad you feel better. My heart is fluttering with happiness."

Mark snored at that, "so cute."

They helped Jackson to sit and drink the medicine. His muscles were sore, and he had to lean against Jaebeom the whole time Mark fed him with soup. The progress was faster than Mark had thought. But this was Jackson – the most stubborn dumbass Mark had ever seen, so it would be strange to him if Jackson wouldn't start to heal right away.

"Listen, Jaebeom. I put…" he considered the man's medicine knowledge before he would start to use terms, "…stuff into these tubes. All you have to do is keep an eye on them, and when the yellowish color changes into a transparent, clean like water, you will call me, alright? If anything happens, call me too."

Mark stood up, which brought another wave of whining from Jackson, who tried to reach for him with the most desperate expression Jaebeom had ever seen on his face.

"Where are you going?" Jaebeom asked.

"I need to open my shop. I also need to cook some food for us. We live off fruits." Mark poured the last of his tea into his cup, "I'll be upstairs. You keep company to our fast-healing prince," he smiled.

"But our prince is not pleased with you leaving us here."

Jackson nodded at that and even frowned. 

"I have regular customers waiting for me," Mark bent down to Jackson and ran his fingers through his amber hair, "I'll be back when the ointment is done, alright?" 

Jackson's cheek immediately turned so red that Jaebeom gasped at the change in the atmosphere. He still couldn't name what kind of relationship was between these two, but it indeed wasn't a professional one, nor even a friendly one. Something was fishy in the kingdom of Wang. 

"What in the hell did you put in the potion?" Jaebeom asked, "he's healing so fast."

"We only brought the fever down," Mark looked at him with a stern expression, "I mixed painkillers into the potion, so he doesn't feel much and is pretty high most of the time. The whole healing process will be much longer. I would never allow him to suffer." 

Mark knew that the guardian was worried; he could tell even from his eyes. And his words surely didn't ease Jackson's struggles, but he had to be honest with his patient, so they could fight together and not give in in the middle of the battle because it started to feel _better._

"Take care, and if you would need anything," Mark looked at Jaebeom, "call me, or come to the shop, alright?" 

Jaebeom's eyes dropped on Mark's hand that was stroking Jackson's hair. The prince's eyes were closed and his breathing even. The atmosphere felt crazily sweet, as if Jaebeom was sinking into honey. His eyes darted back to Mark's dark ones; they stared at each other. The silence stretched between them. Jaebeom had words on his tongue, but he kept biting onto them, chewing until he spat them out, damaged and useless. 

"Your hand on his hair means what?"

"That you probably need a good English teacher," Mark whispered, his eyes round and sparkling in the candles' lights. 

"I gotta go," he added, "be quiet when the prince is sleeping." 

"You're the one still talking," the guardian frowned with pouting only in one cheek, which looked absurdly adorable. 

Mark stood up, flicking Jacebeom's forehead, and quickly ran away before the man could follow him and kick his ass. 

**

Mark inspected the damage on his property after the storm. To his luck, everything was in order, except his damaged tomato plant, but that was the carriage's fault. He pouted at the plants, thinking about how he could resurrect them when a mewl drew his attention back to the house. His cat was standing on the window sill. Mark didn't look away, not even for a second. Each of the movement or just the wind blowing could've been a sign he couldn't ignore. 

Alchemist's mind was opened to the world, their heart closed, but their soul was soaring with the clouds, watching the endless picture. Only fools would set a frame to their minds.

The skies were sapphire blue, the wind calling the early autumn chill, and down, the creek that was curving and creating a snake in the grass could hardly be heard. Not even the birds sang their usual song of the morning. It almost felt that like winter by the end of the summer. 

Mark ran his fingers over the gold-painted symbols on his neck. The silence was eerie, creeping over the green grass, like a gigantic and invisible monster's hand. 

There was a rustling of the leaves, then a lone wolf howled, and a customer suddenly appeared on the curved road to his shop. Mark turned on his heel and sprinted to his house. He grabbed his cat and latched the door behind himself. The cat sniffed the air, then she sniffed Mark's cheek and slipped from his hands on the floor. She jumped back on the window and clawed at the glass.

"Nyx, move from the window!" Mark shooed the cat away and quickly locked the shutters. 

The cat firstly juped on the shelf with herbs and then on the table and back on the floor. Nyx gave Mark one last look and slipped through the opened door into the lab. 

When the knocking on the door started, Mark was already on the second floor, locking all the windows. The sun inclined down to the trees, hanging low, and orange, as if someone dug a hole through the skies to make a shortcut. Mark was sure it was only ten in the morning, but the sun was already behind the horizon. 

"Alchemist! I know you're there! I need your help!" 

Mark quickly changed from his old canvas shoes to leather boots and put his jacket on. The skies have blackened at once, and heavy rain cracked the air like billions of arrows. Mark shut the door of his room and ran down the stairs. The darkness was unbearable; in the span of a few minutes, it managed to creep into every corner of Mark's house. 

"What is going on?!" Jaebeom stood on the lab's stairs, his face pale, lips dry, "I was… I tried to call you. I am sure I did, but you didn't respond." 

"Sorcerer!" Mark whispered and urged Jaebeom back into the basement, "someone sent a sorcerer."

"But why?" 

"Sit here!"

Jaebeom let the alchemist lead him next to the prince, who sat on the makeshift bed and sipped his medicine. Mark could sense his distress and see how tightly he was gripping his cup. Jackson's eyes were the eyes of a deer. _Hopeless,_ that was the one word Mark was searching to describe his prince. He was sure Jackson would have been ready by now, sword in his hand and encouraging speech on his tongue, but he could barely move. 

"What's that on your neck?" Jaebeom pointed. 

"It's a warning symbol I made to protect myself from black magic." Mark reached under his shirt to pull two keys hanging on a gold chain. He unlocked a build-in pantry door. 

"Is that gold?" 

Jackson put the cup on the floor and wrapped his hand around his guardian biceps before he tapped him on it and pointed it out. It had taken a while to Jaebeom before he understood that Jackson wanted to stand up. He immediately shook his head. 

"Your highness, You need to rest."

The prince opened his mouth to curse him, but only a throaty groan left his mouth. He groaned, frustrated, and slapped Jaebeom's shoulder repeatedly. 

"Mark! Tell him he shouldn't move!" 

The alchemist was already kneeling before them and opening a jar he brought from the secret pantry. With no explanation, he dipped his fingers into the gold substance and drew a symbol on Jackson's neck first and then on Jaebeom's.

"Care to explain?" Jaebeom frowned, "you're making me nervous."

Jackson slapped him again and then pointed at the jar and Mark. It was useless to explain anything with his hands, though Jaebeom was a smart guy, Jackson's frowning and hand fencing was beyond his comprehension.

"What?" they exchanged looks before Jackson started to slap Jaebeom's chest and tried even to bit his ear. 

Mark yanked the prince by his shirt's collar and pinched his nose, "what are you doing?"

"Yeah, tell him!" Jaebeom clutched at his chest, visibly hurt by his prince's behavior, "all my life, I serve only You, and this is how You show your gratitude." 

Jackson clung to Mark, burring his face in the crook of his neck. It truly felt devastating to see the brave and strong man down on his knees and unable to fight the evil. Mark held him gently, rubbing soothing circles on his back. 

"What are we going to do?" Jaebeom asked, "is it safe?"

The alchemist shook his head, "I think he came for Jackson."

"Why?!"

"I don't think Jackson's illness is an incident. They made him like this."

Jaebeom gritted his teeth, his hands reaching for the sword, "what are you saying? Who?" 

"Red cold is a blood infection, but it cannot be cured by bloodletting because the bacillus remains on the skin like red spots." Mark laced his fingers with Jackson's, "they _knew_ it wouldn't help unless they tried to get rid of the spots first as I did by cleaning the blood pre-orally. Someone needed our prince unconsciousness so that he couldn't defend himself."

Jaebeom jumped on his feet, "conspiracy!" 

"Probably." 

"But they didn't expect that the King and Queen would seek help by your door."

"They _did_ expect that. Red Cold is still beyond the doctor's capacity, and though I tried to help them, they marked me as a charlatan for using the _infamous witch's herb._ Someone knew that the king would seek my help and that I would never agree to come to the castle."

Mark felt Jackson stir in his arms, the despair so vivid and liquid he almost could reach into it. Not all of that was the sickness doing; the pressure of black magic left an enormous trace on his mental state. 

"Shit!" Jaebeom hissed, immediately covering the symbol on his neck with his palm, "it burns."

"He's in the house," Mark whispered.

"Can you do something?"

"I already did. You just need to stay quiet and don't move." 

Jackson peeked from behind Mark's neck and looked at the door. Though the magic was paralyzing his whole body, the itching in his fingers to reach for a weapon was natural, more potent, and was winning over the sorcerer's will. 

"Jackson, don't move." 

The trio stilled when they heard the door squeak. Nobody dared to lift a finger. Their breath was shallow, but heartbeats so fast and strong that Mark could feel Jackson's drumming against his own as he held the prince securely in his arms. Jaebeom had his hand on his sword, looking down at his feet. He decided to trust the alchemist, but inside he felt doubts that were cracking his perfect posture. If the sorcerer would get closer, Jaebeom didn't know if he could keep calm. He had so many questions, but he kept his tongue behind his teeth. Beter if he didn't see the horrible man walking towards him. 

"Alchemist," a deep, raspy voice called Mark from the lab's door's darkness, "I know you're here. I can smell your gold." 

The rain was beating the windows, loosening Mark's concentration and his willpower over the protection spell. The sorcerer knew his weakness; he came prepared. The floor creaked, making Jackson jerk a bit in Mark's arms. The tension was breathtaking and soul-crushing. In every step, the cloud of darkness was getting closer and pushing back the bright alchemy.

"You think your poor magic can save you," the sorcerer mocked him, "I can see you by your smell. I know exactly where you are." 

Mark saw Jaebeom gripping his sword's handle, but he couldn't say a word, only plead with his eyes.

"This time, it won't be that easy," the man's final step ended by the table where steam was rising from the tubes.

The ointment to ease Jackson's neck's swelling created a safety smell-patch, so Mark wasn't scared that the sorcerer could see them. He was lying like every black magician whose primary weapons were fear and illusions.

"Is this the ointment for our precious prince? What a shame…" he kicked the table multiple times, and the glass shattered on the table and floor; the essence got even more defined, creating a thick layer of mist around the man. 

"I hope he gets choked and dies in vain. Do you know who sent me here, Yien?" 

Mark felt Jackson's curious eyes on his face, but he kept focused on the magic and the prince's safety. The closer the man got, the intense his power was, and Mark couldn't afford to lose his concentration. Enough that the rain was taking a toll on him. 

"I'll tell you if you show yourself. Don't be a coward." 

Jaebeom's eyes widened. The magician really couldn't see them. 

"I have all the time, dear. I can camp here for two or three days. You can't hide from me." 

Mark knew that he was bluffing. Even sorcerers had stamina and needed to rest to regain their energy. If this asshole thought that he could scare him away, he surely didn't know _who_ Mark was. However, it was tricky to fight the black magic while holding an immobile Jackson in his arms. The luminous atmosphere reminded more of a gold summer evening than red midnight, so the sorcerer knew that his power in Mark's lab was limited and oppressed. 

"I can set your house on fire." 

"I want to hear the prince squeal and cry in pain. It charges my energy, the pain of the innocent." 

Mark was having enough of this egomaniac. He gently rubbed his nose against the crown of Jackson's head to assure him that he has everything under control. He would never let anyone hurt Jackson again. 

"I'm sure you know who I am." The man's eyes darted into the lab's corner, where Nyx was sitting like a statute. "What a pretty kitty. Shame she has to die." 

Jackson's whole body tensed in Mark's arm, and his hands started to shake. He was going through an unexpected spasm, probably caused by dark magic waves beating his unrecovered body. Mark tightened his embrace around the prince. It worked only for a moment when Nyx and her strange ghostly form occupied the sorcerer. When he tried to grab the animal, his hand went through her body, like she was made of smoke. 

"Huh?" 

Mark used that moment to grab the half-empty cup with medicine and brought it to Jackson's lips, but his body trashed even harder since there was nothing that could hold him. He managed to take only a few sips before he knocked the cup from Mark's hand, and then it shattered against the floor. Mark shoved Jackson away from himself with all his strength. The sorcerer was fast and sent an electric bolt their way the moment they've got visible again. 

The impact was full-blown. It shoved Mark against the wall. 

"Hello, boys."

"Don't move!" Mark yelled at Jaebeom, who was still invisible to the sorcerer's eyes. 

"It won't help him anymore," he took a step to Jackson, who was curled in himself, the pain beating his body in waves. 

Mark scrambled on his feet with the wall's help, "you can't touch him." 

"Sure, I can." He grinned, reaching for Jackson with one hand, but stopped in the middle when the gold symbol on Jackson's neck reacted to the black magic. "Son of a bitch!"

Mark chuckled, "Lavius, I think you forgot who I am." 

"Son of a bitch! That's who you are!" 

"Bless my mother then." Mark watched as the old sorcerer was gathering energy ball in his palms. 

"Come on," Mark spread his arms, "hit me! You won't get to the prince until you kill me." 

"With my pleasure!" 

Nyx appeared in front of the sorcerer; the cat jumped on him and clawed his face with an angry hissing. As much as Lavius tried to catch the ghostly creature, he couldn't grasp anything but the air. Mark used the moment and ran to Jackson, who was coughing blood on the floor. 

"No _no, no,_ please don't," Mark wiped his mouth, his hand trembling, "hold on, please hold on…" he quickly reached under his shirt and pulled out his golden circle pendant to give it to Jackson when a hand snatched him at his spine. 

When the chain loudly clung to the floor, Jackson looked at it with his teary eyes. He stretched out his hand, trying to ignore the spasm in his stomach and the fact that Mark is being thrown around like a rag. He grabbed at the pendant, the gold burning his skin as he clenched it in his fist and pressed it onto his chest. 

"I have to get You out of here!" Jaebeom finally snapped out of the trance Mark had sent onto him and drew his sword. 

"I thought he said, don't move!" Lavius turned at the guard and silently cast a spell over his body, "three of you and so awfully weak."

Jackson deeply inhaled the soft essence of the cure that got spilled on the floor. His windpipe was loosening, but the pain was increasing as he was trying to form words. Out of the corner of his eyes, Jackson saw the sorcerer coming closer. Each step felt like thousands of needles were puncturing his skin. He rolled on his back, the gold of the pendant melting his skin like snow. If he was about to die, then at least he wanted to be able to fight. 

"How beautiful," Lavius smiled, "when Zeref told me that they left you here alone with one useless guardian and alchemist, I thought that he's bluffing." 

"Who's useless, you piece of shit?!" Jaebeom broke the spell, his arm moving against the will of the magician. He managed to hit his shoulder with his fist and swung his sword over his head. 

"Persistent son of a bitch!" he jumped aside.

Jaebeom snickered, "you know, there's a reason why I am the prince's guardian. Also, I would appreciate it if you would stop insulting our mothers." 

"I insist," Mark groaned from the back of the lab, "it hurts." 

Lavius lowered his head, his hands trembling and palms closing into tight fists. Soon his whole body convulsed, and a scream echoed against the stone walls of the cellar. His fist blazed in flames, and a cold-hearted laugh filled the shattered place around them.

"I'll burn you all into ashes!" his eyes traveled over the floor to Jackson, "and you'll be the first one!"

Jaebeom jumped through the flipped table, but it was too late. The bastard threw a fireball at Jackson. It seemed like time has slowed down in Jaebeom's perspective. He was desperately trying to reach the magician and cut his hand off with his sword, while horror filled the prince's eyes, the orange flames reflexing death in them. 

The evil laugh died on Lavius's lips when an invisible barrier absorbed the spell and left Jackson untouched. Jaebeom swung his sword skillfully and cut off three of the sorcerer's fingers. 

"Fancy of you to think that you can use fire against an alchemist," Mark held a corked bottle in his hands, "wanna guess what this is?"

Lavius crashed against the wall, blood spraying out of his fingers. Their eyes met in a battle, which evoked another wave of displeasure and pain. Jackson couldn't breathe, his lungs burning. 

"You," Lavius spat, "think you can trick me and kill me." The blood dripped on the floor, but the red colored not only the wood but also the sorcerer's eyes. 

"Jackson!" Mark threw the bottle to his legs before an invisible hand clasped around his neck and brought him on his knees. 

"No fucking herbs can stop me! I'll snap your neck!" he used his injured arm against Jaebeom, who could still walk despite the pressure. The power had to be divided between two persons now. 

Lavius hissed as the gold symbols on their necks have burned his hands. It was hurting even his magic. But the final blow didn't come from either of the men. Call it luck, call it a will of a bastard to survive, or just Jackson had enough of the motherfucker trying to choke his friends. He hoisted himself on his hands and grabbed a piece of glass from the floor. Swiftly, Jackson rolled on his side and stabbed Lavius into his leg's artery. He kicked him in the back of his knee, and when Lavius crashed on his knees, Jackson pulled the cork from the bottle with his teeth before he smashed it against his head. 

Since Jackson couldn't speak, Lavius, the mighty sorcerer, died without a punchline on Mark's lab floor.


	2. Chapter 2

Morning came shortly, almost at the snap of the fingers. With the last breath of the fallen sorcerer, the skies opened and revealed blue and yellow canvas. For Jaebeom, it was difficult to comprehend what had happened. He insisted that they fought for hours, maybe even the whole day, and it was impossible to be still morning. Mark gave him a cup of relaxing tea and treated his wounded head. 

As Jaebeom learned, the alchemist was healing surprisingly fast thanks to his self-made potion that healed his cuts almost immediately. He asked for the same magic potion, but Mark refused and said that it would mess with his head. 

Jaebeom scratched his scalp as he looked around himself with a broom in his hand. The glass, piece of wood, and dried spots of mixed potions were covering the whole lab's floor. He sighed, nervously scratching his head again only to get whacked by Mark. 

"Don't scratch it. Your bandage is falling," he fixed it carefully. 

"How's the prince?" he muttered between annoyed sighing. 

"He's sleeping," Mark smiled, "I washed him and gave him the rest of the medicine. It seems like he inhaled a _lot_ of the spilled ointment's steam. His throat is slowly returning to normal."

"Oh," Jaebeom grunted, "thank you, dear Lord."

"You can call me Mark." He mocked the guardian who brandished at him with the broom.

"You! This is your mess, not mine!"

Mark laughed at him, "you know I came to like you. Don't you want to stay with me forever?" 

"No!" 

**

Jaebeom sent the king's falcon with a message. It took the king's soldiers another whole day to come and clean the mess. They were pacing around for another four days, asking stupid questions about Zeref and the sorcerer. Mark left it to Jaebeom, who had many friends in the circle, and locked himself with Jackson in his room. The prince was sleeping again, his body recovering from the impact of the black magic and the cold. He read him stories about dragons and until he had to lit candles. Then he heard the carriage and horses leaving his property. Some soldiers built a camp near his house as a prevence. Mark didn't give a damn as long as they would mind their own business. He was glad that the king's man took the corpse out of his property. 

Mark drew the curtains together and turned back to the peacefully sleeping Jackson. Mark liked how he fit into his bed, and his imagination started to work immediately. His head got filled with desires and images of Jackson's naked body. With a sigh, he managed to block all the inappropriate thoughts from his mind and heart, and he sat down on the edge of the bed. 

Mark ran his fingers through Jackson's hair, "once you're awake, I swear, I'll kiss you." 

Surprisingly, Jackson stirred in his sleep. A frown formed on his forehead as he whimpered painfully. It was a sound, much cleaner than before. 

"Hey, have a bad dream?" Mark stroked his hair, "I lay down with you." He leaned down to kiss Jackson on his forehead, "you saved our lives." 

There was more than enough space for two people in his bed. Mark threw away two smaller pillows and lay down next to Jackson. For the first time, Mark probably read the signs wrong when he let the adviser into his house. He never searched for excuses, and instead, he accepted his failure, or maybe the symbols simply lead him into this specific moment. Mark should be ready to let Jackson go in five days when his recovery would be enough to safely and comfortably travel back to the castle. 

But he wasn't ready to let him go. Finally, having the prince so near, just for himself – without the suffocating castle walls holding Jackson like a prisoner. All the garden's roses couldn't compare with Jackson's beauty. Only the birds knew about the desire to be free. Mark didn't often visit since the road was almost seven hours long, but when he did, Jackson always clung to him and asked about his journeys. 

"When you feel better, I'll come to see you." 

Love was undoubtedly a feeling that could make the judging skies blind. Mark was not afraid to accept what his heart craved the most. When he touched Jackson's skin, when he ran his fingers through his hair, the details filled him to the brim, and all that remained were the forbidden kisses and yearning for touches on places where nobody had ever touched him.

"Forgive me for my desires." 

**

Three mornings later, Mark woke up to someone tickling his nose. He assumed it was Nyx annoying him as almost every morning, but when he groaned and buried his face into his pillow, he heard a soft giggle. It could be nobody else but Jackson.

Mark opened his eye with half of his face still pressed against the pillow. He looked at Jackson, who was smiling at him with the morning light behind his back. Blinded by the beauty, Mark didn't even try to fight his body to move. His heartbeat was like a bird clasping its wings in a stormy wind. Everything Jackson did was like a heatwave washing over him. The hot wind was blowing against Mark, disrupting his stance and peeling his feet off the ground. It was too late to walk away. 

"Morning," Jackson whispered, but even that was enough for Mark to rose in one swift move and cupped the prince's face. 

"You talk."

Jackson nodded with a smile, "I tried so hard because I wanted to tell you…" his voice was still not coming clean, but Mark was in awe that the healing progress was so fast. 

"I wanted to tell you…" Jackson took a deep breath, "to tell you that…"

Mark gently rubbed his thumbs against Jackson's cheekbones, fighting the urge to wrap his whole body around Jackson and never let him go. But how would the younger react to the feelings of a foolish alchemist? Prince, Jackson was a crown prince, a man that could never be his. Mark felt the shattering in his guts, the prime feeling clenching painfully around his heart and making him bow his head in defeat under the weight of reality.

"Why are you suddenly so sad?" Jackson asked. 

"Because I'm selfish."

Jackson's eyes widened, "you and selfish?" 

Oh, that beautiful face, the power hidden in one single body – Mark was entwined, so deeply in love with the young man, that Jackson would have to be blind not to see the endearing in Mark's eyes. 

Mark gently squeezed his cheeks with a crescent smile on his face, "how do you feel? Anything hurts?" 

"No." 

"I should give you the rest of the medicine and…" Mark's hands slipped down to catch Jackson's hands and examine the washing red spots. "you're healing fast. That's good." 

"So," Jackson cleared his throat, frowning a bit as he felt the uncomfortable dryness, "I wanted to tell you that…" 

Mark looked into his eyes. His grip on Jackson's hands tightened.

"I tried so hard because I wanted to tell you how…" Jackson shivered, a gentle blush creeping into this pale face, "…I wanted to start to talk as fast as I could because I wanted to tell you how…"

Mark was getting impatient, surpassing a chuckle because of how adorable the prince was. He could kick and smash a sorcerer in his most vulnerable state but blushed when he tried to talk to Mark. 

What a pair of fools they were.

"…how, I wanted to tell you," Jackson pinned his eyes on Mark's deep neckline, hypnotizing the golden chain with two keys, "tell you, how beautiful you are and that…" he squeezed Mark's hands, "…that I am grateful, that I can never repay what you did for me, and that I love you for a long time…" 

Mark's heart skipped a beat. He had to be blind not to follow the stars, not listen to birds calling Jackson's name, and not see his eyes in the deep forest. Even an alchemist was helpless when it came to love. And Jackson, who has fallen into the depth of his consciousness, couldn't choose whose hands would treat his wounds. They were fools driven by strange and evil ways of nature to meet at midnight and finally see the skies clear, without the thick cover of blinding blanket. 

Everything bad was good for something.

At some point, Mark thought he was made of silence, of the tranquil corner people often considered as lost and would never find their peace of mind. But Mark had done more than that; he brought peace to the lost people. But a man like him would never see the colors coming after him because of the selfless way he was born and the swear he made to help people around him.

"You are so silent…" Jackson chirped, his face pink like the apple trees' petals, "did I offend you?"

"No," Mark immediately shooed away all the doubts, "I'm just happy…" his smile broke the thin layer of morning atmosphere around him.

Jackson finally looked at him, the willpower to live stronger than anything Mark had ever seen. 

"You're so clueless," Mark laughed before he let go of the prince's hands and leaned closer to cup his face back into his hands, "God help me…"

"Mark…" 

"Let me kiss you." 

Jackson's fingers gently encircled Mark's wrist, "can I?" 

"You can." 

Mark kissed him, his lips chapped, a bit dry. It was the most natural kiss, soft and human. The forbidden crossroad that Mark uncovered by connecting two separate fates was lost in the dark mist and enlightened by the pale moonlight. Jackson felt like sunshine against his lips, a pulsing artery that made Mark believe that Jackson is the source of _everything_. 

"I love you too." 

**

Mark came home late, the rain heavy and candles blinking at him in his window. The soldier's tent was opened, and their eyes followed him when Mark tossed the rain from his hair like a wet dog. When he unlocked his house, he was welcomed by Jaebeom, who was nervously pacing in the shop before he saw Mark, who untied his coat and dropped it on a chair. 

"Something happened?" 

"I have thousands of questions!" Jaebeom stopped on the spot, "why is Nyx like that? And why do you wear gold? And what did you do to our prince?" 

"What happened to Jackson?"

"You tell me!" 

Mark sighed at that, "listen, I've spent the last three hours at the cemetery. It's chilly and rainy outside. I want to change and go to sleep. I'm too sleepy, Jaebeom."

"Why?" Jaebeom crossed his arms, rubbing his shoulder uncomfortably, "on the cemetery?" 

"I needed a _Rubben Rulis. It's_ a herb used against night terrors."

"A what?"

Mark smiled at him gently, "look, nothing you should worry about. Some people are sleepwalking, and some have nightmares. I promise I didn't dance with wolves or witches." 

Why was Jaebeom so visibly shaking? No dead were walking through the night asking for brains or other inner organs. Of course, legends could frighten someone, but with Mark, everyone was safe. Sorcerer, witches, _yes,_ they existed, but walking dead? That was laughable. He patted Jaebeom's shoulder and went to the fireplace.

"I wear gold because I'm a golden alchemist." 

"So," Jaebeom shoved his hands into his pockets, "does this mean you can turn lead into gold?" 

"One can't turn lead into gold," he smiled, "but there's a different way to create gold. But that will be our secret, alright?" 

Jaebeom gasped, "you _actually…."_

Mark put his finger against his lip, "go get some rest. You have a long road ahead tomorrow."

When he climbed up the stairs and opened the door from his room, Mark found Jackson standing by the window and heavily leaning against the sill. For a moment, Mark watched him and waited, but no matter how much he tried to ignore Jackson's shaking legs, he didn't have the heart to watch him suffer. He quickly reached Jackson and pulled him into his arms. 

"You shouldn't walk." 

Mark could see him frowning in the window's reflection, "your highness…" he tried politely, but Jackson hissed at the name. 

"Are you going to be like this now?"

"Please, you're leaving tomorrow. You need to rest." Mark tried to push away the yearning feeling. Jackson hasn't even left yet, but Mark felt like he already lost him.

What future could their relationship bring? A crown prince and an alchemist – two different creatures with different paths. Mark would give his all for Jackson – he already settled his heart and soup deeply in Jackson's pocket. 

"Is this the life you wish for me?" Jackson lowered his head, "heal me, save me, and then send me away after we shared a kiss?"

"I don't want to let you go." 

"Then don't!" 

Mark's eyes have filled with sorrow. The emotion was so dark and liquid that Jackson couldn't bear his look anymore. He shifted nervously and crossed his arms over his chest. The prince's posture was dominant – he blossomed from the wounded and brittle man into a knight. Mark's eyes have fallen on his biceps that were nicely cut with the shirt's short sleeves. The potion worked better than Mark had expected. 

Maybe too _good._ When Mark reached for that arm when he wanted to touch, Jackson's head twisted his way, and their eyes met for a second before Mark leaned on and kissed Jackson on his shoulder. 

The upcoming separation _hurt_ so much that Mark could barely think ahead. Perhaps, the king would never allow Jackson to come down here into the Golden Valley, where flowers turned the whole countryside into a colorful blanket, and birds sang the most beautiful lullaby. 

It seemed that there was no happy ending for the _old_ alchemist. 

"Mark…" Jackson clenched his fist, trying so hard not to touch and feel what he was meant to lose. 

No prince had a future with a man whose enemies were crazy sorcerers and paranormal entities. All Mark has ever wanted was peace – a tranquil corner where he could sit and daydream about someone who would love him, but that wasn't possible. 

"When we kissed," Jackson brushed his nose against the soft strands of Mark's dark hair, "I know I was high on the medicine, but mainly because of that, I can recall the softness, the taste of your lips. I can feel your breath, your sweet humming—"

" _Stop_!" Mark bit into his shoulder. 

"There's no one but us here," Jackson felt the canine teeth sinking into his muscle, "talk to me like I am a man, not your prince." 

"What for?" it hurt to think about possibilities when one day, Jackson would marry a noblewoman and inherit the crown. 

"Because," Jackson reasoned softly, "I want to be _yours."_

Mark bit into his lip, trying to hush the inner voice that was urging him into action. Nobody had to know what was happening in the alchemist's bedsheets – no soldier, or guardian, would ever reach the house or look into the bedroom window overgrown with wild roses. 

The desire was tearing Mark apart. 

The love was driving him crazy.

Jackson was young compared to Mark's _almost_ immortal years, but still, all Mark wanted was to lay down next to the prince and love him until Jackson's last breath. He would survive and carry the pain in his heart to never forget about Jackson after Mark would climb into another century of new lovers and kings. It wasn't the first time Mark had wished to be mortal, but he would never meet Jackson. 

Destiny was just an interplay of coincidences.

"You own my life already," Jackson tried to look into his face, "I want you to take what is mine…"

Mark dared to raise his eyes and see the absolute devotion in the prince's face. The only thing Jackson could control about his life was his body, and Mark could say that Jackson was ready to give his innocence away for someone he loved instead of getting dirty with a person whose name sounded like a verdict. 

Mark should've been smarter after all the years, but love was still the most confusing hormone he had ever felt. No potion could cure or cause the feeling. People who came to ask about love potions to old witches or fortune-tellers were mostly tricked into believing someone could fall for them. _No._ Mark would laugh about that. No drug can give you eternal love. 

Herbs and whispers cannot trick a heart under the Pale Moonlight. 

Love was driving Mark crazy. 

He cupped Jackson's face, and his thumbs dug almost painfully into his soft skin, "Jackson, I want to be yours more than anything else." 

"I know you live long," Jackson said, "so give me one moment of your life. I know you will remember one day, and that's all that matters…" 

Mark's eyelids fluttered when the sound or the rain transcended his body, and only then he remembered that he's still drenched. He should probably go and change, _but_ – yes, that _but_ was Jackson's immediate presence, his masculine fragrance, his body only an inch away from Mark's, and the promise of ecstasy hanging low on his pretty pink lips.

"I want you," taking a deep breath as if inhaling the last bits of Jackson's mind-blowing fragrance to seal Mark's destiny, Mark kissed him, their lips collapsing and teeth bruising. 

Mark didn't care about the mess of the kiss or that Jackson was lagging. He wanted to feel the hot and wet tongue against his and rip his clothes down. And although the lust has clouded Mark's senses and his heart was on the brink of sanity, he couldn't help but pay attention to Jackson's weakening knees, short breath, and cold hands. 

"We shouldn't…" Mark nibbled at Jackson's bottom lip, "you need to recover, we shouldn't…"

"I'm feeling better than I ever…" this time, Jackson made the front attack, sucking on Mark's lips, "I want _this,_ and I want _you,_ Mark."

Mark moaned into the kiss, "dear heavens, help me."

Mark's rational part was pushed back, kicking and yelling at the Mark, who was now untying Jackson's pants and feeling him over the thick cloth. Jackson's gentle, innocent moans were sending thousands of butterflies into Mark's stomach. Jackson's cold hands sneaked under Mark's wet blouse, intimately caressing another person's skin for the first time. 

"I've got you," Mark released Jackson's lips, leaving them puffy and wet, and moved down to his chin and neck. 

Jackson was getting louder and bolder with each tug, kiss, bite that Mark's mouth had given. To feel and being touched for the first time couldn't be compared to anything Jackson had ever experienced. Mark's palms were hot but safe, his lips plush and gentle, but each of the bites has sent a delicious bolt down to his spine. And then, Mark's palms were roaming under his shirt, fingers brushing across his nipples and tongue whispering words of love. 

Jackson was falling in spirals, his knees buckling for other reasons than recovery. He was nervous – everything was new, and it has escalated so fast that he was scared he wouldn't be able to give Mark what he needed. 

"Calm down," Mark kissed his artery, "your heart beats like crazy."

"I…" Jackson gulped. 

"I'll take care of you," Mark caressed his cheek with the back of his fingers, "I won't do anything you're not comfortable with. I'll give you all the love I have…"

Jackson's face burned as he leaned into the touch and closed his eyes. 

"I'll be gentle." 

"I know." Jackson was never sure about anything else as much as about Mark's honest words. It was solid like a stone and crystal clear like a creak. He had no doubts about Mark's intentions. 

Mark smiled knowingly and took Jackson's hands before he stepped back with a smile, "come, and lay down with me."

Jackson's breath hitched, "Am I _good_?"

Everything about Jackson was breathtaking; even though he was still fighting the Red Cold's last resistance, he already looked like a winner. Maybe someone else would disagree with Mark's vision through the haze of love; perhaps someone would point at the dark circles under the prince's eyes, or his pale skin and bony cheeks, but for Mark, Jackson was still perfect because he knew something that nobody else had any idea about: _the sign_ from the cloudy skies – from the rain that put a spell on Mark's senses and let him breathe freely for the first time in years. 

Jackson made it. 

Mark sat down on the edge of his specious bed, still holding onto Jackson's hands, "you always have been," Mark kissed his hands when a thunder vibrated through the house's glass. 

Jackson chuckled nervously, "you won't fall asleep on me, right?" 

Mark gently bit his wrist "depends on your performance."

"Hey, I am a virgin. I have no performance."

"I bet you have." He let go of Jackson and placed his hands on his hips to maneuver him into his lap. 

The tight muscles in Jackson's thighs squeezed Mark beyond his fantasy. The tension catapulted them high, above the clouds to the dark stary skies. Mark wrapped his arms around Jackson's waist and pressed him flat against his body. His body proportions, the mind-blowing smell, Mark felt like under a spell when he buried his face into Jackson's exposed chest. He mouthed at the left pectoral, gently bruising the skin with his teeth. 

"You taste amazing," Mark mumbled.

Jackson giggled at that, "you look hungry."

Mark hummed, thinking for a while before he lowered himself onto the mattress and stroked Jackson's thighs, "lay down with me, please?"

The prince was thrown off the balance when Mark suddenly moved his legs, and he sunk lover, his ass pressed against Mark's thighs, their groins touching. He felt Mark's fingers dug into his meat, releasing a hot moan. And right then, when Mark closed his eyes, and his face got painted with pleasure, Jackson understood what power he always had over Mark and that all his fears were just doubts of an inexperienced.

" _Hmmm…"_ Jackson placed his hands on Mark's chest, his hips driven by the primal instinct as he rolled them against Mark's evident erection.

"Pretty, please," Mark opened his eyes. 

"And…" slowly, Jackson lowered himself, covering Mark's body, "what do you want to do?"

Mark's hand shot up, cupping his neck, "kiss you all over your body and show you places that you have never been."

"Like where?" Jackson's face was heating up again, his heart drumming in his ears. 

"Lay down with me, and I'll show you."

Too honey-like voice and too perfectly heart-shaped lips, _too much_ of everything to play more games, so Jackson let himself sunk and drown and die a little bit because he knew that after tonight, nothing is ever going to be as pure and perfect as this moment. 

" _Alright."_

**

Mark wished he could turn back the time or stop it without destroying the physics of the universe. He would do _anything_ for Jackson to stay with him a little longer. It was still raining; the signs of sadness dripped all around Mark, letting him know that there's no way he can keep Jackson in his arms. 

After all, Mark had done for the kingdom, for the king, it seemed that he should demand his reward, but how could he even pretend he wouldn't jump into a hell-pit for Jackson with no fees. 

Having Jackson healthy in his bed, between the apricot bedsheets, and peacefully dreaming about a better world was enough of Mark's prize. Maybe, just _maybe,_ if Jackson could stay a little longer. The rain was beating heavily on the roof, but Mark had no thoughts about sleeping. 

He leaned his head on his palm and stroked Jackon's amber hair. The world was getting colder and dangerous, but the evil had a superior enemy in one, persistent young man, who was now lying naked under Mark's blankets. 

Mark smiled, his fingers traveling south, to Jackson's neck and his shoulder. It looked like nature made Jackson with the rarest sources. Everything about him was perfect, beautiful, and luminous as if he was made of stars. Mark leaned in, kissing his naked shoulder and gently biting the collar bone. Jackson stirred in his sleep, breathing through his nose as he rolled on his back to find a better sleeping position. Now he looked like an overgrown baby, with his hands resting next to his head, the pink lips slightly open. 

It felt a bit cruel to wake him up, but the clock was ticking against Mark. 

"Time for your medicine." Mark cupped his cheek with a smile, "this one is better. I promise." 

Jackson groaned, and this time, he rolled on his side to face Mark's chest. He hooked his arm around the alchemist's middle. 

"You know, if you keep doing this, you'll never get well, which means you'd never hug me like this again." Mark buried his nose into the amber flood of Jackson's hair. "Come on."

"My bottom hurts…" Jackson peeped with a small voice, refusing to move. 

Mark sucked on his bottom lip, trying to surpass his worries, "was I too rough?"

"No!" Jackson tilted his head back to give Mark a sleepy look. 

How could one resist the innocence in Jackson's eyes? No matter what the prince did, it always had this effect on Mark. And Mark? He wasn't scared to admit it was love. 

"You don't have to move," Mark kissed his cheek, "but I need you up."

"I get it."

"Amazing." He pecked Jackson's lips one last time before he got up from the bed, "I'll bring you food. Do you feel like to swallow something else than soup?"

Jackson hoisted himself on his elbows and shook his head in disproval, "come back quickly." 

"Alright." If he could, Mark wouldn't move a centimeter from Jackson, but his health was paramount.

It made no sense to release Jackson from his care this soon. The king must've been worried about his son after what happened; that fact, Mark couldn't fight, but Mark was still not pleased that he would have to give Jackson the medicine and that medicine would get into the doctors' hands. They would experiment and try to resolve his secrets. 

Mark looked at the potion bottle in his hand and sighed. He was genuinely getting selfish with Jackson, and the signs were showing him the consequences. 

"Love is selfish," Mark said as he gripped the glass in his hand, "how can you love selflessly? I cannot share him with anyone else." 

Nyx mewed at him from the doorstep of his lab. 

"I know that it's not what you mean," he looked at his cat with remorse, "the world needs him. But it terrifies me that he has no idea what is waiting for him out there." 

The black cat walked down the stairs and jumped on the table, moving swiftly around the tubes and boxes. She settled on one of Mark's books and licked her paw. Then her tail swirled, and she mewed at him louder. 

"I can't do that, Nyx!" he shook his head and turned around, " _that_ would be selfish." 

Her angry mewing didn't stop just because Mark said a _no._ Everywhere Mark moved, the cat was next to him, complaining about Mark being oblivious to the world's problems. It could go on forever, but nobody could persuade Mark into thinking that he could help or stop the doom's day. He was just a golden alchemist, a man with wisdom that couldn't stop wars. 

"Look, if you're gonna mixle with my feet, I'm gonna fall and break my neck." He picked the bowl with soup for Jackson. "Nyx! I want to go upstairs to Jackson! I don't have time for this!" 

The black cat hissed at him; her fur bristled as she was having enough of Mark's dumb ass. Nyx jumped on the table and clawed the wood. 

"Now, young lady! Behave!" if Mark had an empty hand, he would grab her and bring her to his horse's stall as a punishment. "Don't argue with me!" 

Nyx jumped down on the floor and ran away before Mark could see where she went. He sighed and tiredly tilted his head back only to hear his neck painfully snapping, the joints giving in under the pressure of the past weeks. 

When he got up into his bedroom, Jackson was sitting on the bed covered with blankets and Nyx on his lap. She was purring under Jackson's fingers that massaged her scalp. Mark swallowed his protests because these should be their last moments together, but _no,_ Nyx had to play the annoying kid she was. 

"Would you ever tell me her secret?" Jackson asked while petting the soft fur. 

Mark put the bowl on the nightstand and unplucked the cork from the bottle to pour the medicine into the awaiting glass, "you should take your medicine." 

"She was… I saw the sorcerer's hand went through her like she was just a cloud. But here I am, touching her."

"That's…" Mark sat on the edge of the mattress, "she doesn't like it when I tell the story in her presence. And I guess she doesn't plan to leave you anytime soon." 

"You have many secrets, Yien…" 

Mark tensed when he heard that ancient name from Jackson's mouth. Lavius rambled two or three of his secrets during that night, and Mark was naïve to think that Jackson wouldn't notice because of his poor health and stress. 

"I know you're old, but _how_ old are you actually"? He lifted Nyx into his arms and started to scratch under her chin. 

The atmosphere has changed faster than Mark could read the signs around him. But the relentless rain outside should've been enough of evidence. Since the first day they met, Mark knew he is building his friendship with Jackson on secrets. To protect the prince from the pitfalls of the world, he had to take some drastic measures. When Mark witnessed the falcons returning to the Golden Valley mountains, he knew a hero was born. 

"I'm as old as I look," Mark said after a while, "I'm reborn, Jackson."

"What do you mean?" the prince tightened his hold onto the cat who was still purring. 

"People talk about the Philosopher's stone as if it could make their bodies immortal, but we aren't our bodies. We're our souls, our knowledge, memories, and feelings. You're immortal as long as you remember who you are, as long as others remember who you are." 

Jackson stared at him, processing what has been told to him, "you found the Philosopher's stone?" his eyebrows shot up and melt into his fringe. 

"You can say that," Mark smiled, "but it's not a stone. It's something different."

"What?" the prince leaned closer. His boyish curiosity made Mark laugh, "come on, what is it? I won't tell anyone!" 

"Now, that's a secret that I _really_ cannot tell you." Mark handed him the glass with medicine, "some secrets have to be kept. Trust me in this one."

Jackson glared over the rim of the glass as he gulped down the sour medicine. The look was enough for Mark to understand that Jackson didn't give up, and he will probably continue to resolve the mystery. Well, it would be a bit of a problem for Mark if the prince would gang up with Nyx to torture his poor soul. 

"Now, you need to eat." Mark picked Nix up from his lap and stood up, "and Nyx is so very mean to me today, Jackson. I can't even tell you. She's so mean to me."

"Yeah, she told me," Jackson leaned against the bed's headboard and started to eat. For a moment, Mark was horrified that Jackson _did_ understand what Nyx was saying, but it looked that Jackson was also just being mean to him. 

"You should play with her."

"Later." Mark closed the door and leaned against it with his hands behind his back. 

Jackson looked at the window, probably watching the rainy scenery, as the drops caressed the fragile petals of the wild roses behind the glass. It rained since the day the envoy told Mark that the prince has to return to the castle in five days. Even the skies knew that it was a horrible idea to separate him from Jackson. 

The alchemist could only guess what would happen if he would tell Jackson all the signs. 

Mark opened the window, and the relaxing sound of rain filled the room together with the fresh air. He picked a rose flower and returned to the bed where Jackson already finished the soup. It was good to see that his appetite was back. Mark took the bowl from his hands and set it on the nightstand. He then drew closer to Jackson and put the flower behind his ear. 

Oh, how gloomy could a loving gesture look in someone else's eyes? Mark could see the shade changing in Jackson's eyes, the light slipping away because an act like this always had two meanings for someone in their situation. 

"Everything will be reborn one day," Mark touched his cheek, "maybe in a different shade, color, person, but it will." 

"I don't understand," Jackson leaned into the touch. 

"It's alright."

"Does that mean that I will meet you again after my death?"

"Maybe…" Mark climbed on the bed and pulled Jackson into his arms before they sank between the pillows. 

If he would tell the world if he would tell Jackson that life and death are the same things, how would Jackson react? Could his soul blank as a sheet of paper, understand the secrets of the universe? All Mark wanted was to forget he knows about destiny and hold Jackson until the world would allow him. 

"I don't want to go," Jackson said after a moment of anxious silence, "people out there want me dead."

Mark pressed him closer, "nobody will hurt you. I promise."

"I know that I am strong enough, but how can I see the conspiracy, the poisoners, murderers that wait for my return?" 

Mark felt his heart breaking after the words. He was about to send the love of his life into the chaos and darkness of the world, and although he tried to convince himself that he's not doing it willingly, he knew it was a lie to make himself feel better. If he misread the signs and if anything happened to Jackson, he would have to suffer his consequences for the rest of the universe's days.

"Nobody will hurt you," he repeated, "I'm always with you."

"How can I trust your secrets, Mark?" 

"I keep these to protect you. There are things beyond your understanding." 

"I'm not stupid." Jackson sighed, and Mark could feel the pout against his chest. 

He smiled, running his fingers through Jackson's hair. Over his past life, the decades and centuries, he had never seen a human being so beautiful and innocent as Jackson. There was not an evil bone in his body, and while Mark swore that he would protect Jackson, sometimes the long years have been messing with his heart and mind, trying to push and pull his needs, and rip the black stains from his soul. Sometimes Mark looked at Jackson and thought about locking him away. 

Mark was selfish in places Jackson had no idea about. 

"I never said you are," Mark kissed the crown of his head. "Remember when we met for the first time?"

"I've been with my father in your father's tavern." 

"I knew you would come." 

Jackson looked at him, curious, "it's the _sign_ thing again?"

"I had a dream about you. It's seldom that I dream about the future. It's a sign of destiny." 

Wordlessly, Jackson propped on his elbow to face him. His eyes shone brightly in the candles' light, and Mark was glad that Jackson is gaining his courage back after the poignant moment between them. 

_Talk –_ they talked only when they could do things that would leave more significant marks on their souls. The moment when Jackson pressed his lips against Mark's, their destiny was sealed. A wolf howled in the woods, the rain got heavier, beating the rose petals and wetting the floor under the window. But Mark held onto Jackson tighter. It was supposed to be only one night, just to melt their veins into one artery that connects their heart. Mark shouldn't have touched Jackson again – he should've let him go, not feed his soul with uncommitted emotions. 

Sometimes, the signs were opposite, and it depended on the person which way they would go. It was called: _choosing your destiny,_ and Mark, though he knew he should let go and stay on his peaceful road, couldn't handle the image of Jackson slipping away from him and facing the darkness of the world alone. 

A crow sat on the window's rim and cawed loudly, but the couple didn't flinch. Mark was holding onto Jackson, returning his kisses with the same devotion. It didn't take long, and their limbs got tangled, their chest heaved. Mark hoisted his leg over Jackon's side and rolled him on the back, straddling him in the process. He rested his hands next to Jackson's head and looked into his hooded eyes. 

"I want to make love to you while you wear that rose." 

Jackson's cheeks gained color. No man ever talked to him like this, Mark was sure about this fact, but love made them soft and connected. It was like lightning from a clear sky, the shiver that ran down Jackson's naked body when Mark touched his thigh. It was as if Jackson had forgotten that Mark stripped off his clothes just a few hours ago. 

The touches were electrifying and felt different from the first time because Jackson knew what he could expect now. 

"You're so…" Mark bent down, gently kissing Jackson's lips, "you have no idea…" his palms caressed the soft skin and memorized each of the shapes of his muscles. 

"Every part of you…" Mark licked the hardening nipple, "is why I live for." 

Mark grounded his hips, pressing his clothed erection against Jackson's naked groin. He bit into Jackson's nipple, his hands holding his hips, and moaned at Jackson's skins' taste.

Jackson's whole body convulsed, a thick thread of precum dropped on his abdomen, which didn't slip Mark's attention. After endless kisses, sucking, and biting, and coloring the albatross skin, Mark shifted his weight on Jackson's thighs to bent over and swallowed the leaking tip of his cock. 

"Oh _my…"_ Jackson gasped, locking his fingers in the black strands of Mark's hair. He stretched his neck to see, unable to move, he watched as Mark swallowed him down. The light changed, the flames of candles flickered in the wind, and thunder vibrated through the windows panes.

Mark knew Jackson wouldn't last long; Jackson was still a baby bird, a newborn lover, so he decided not to tease him anymore and sucked harder, giving Jackson no time for thinking. The lovely huffs and moans had completely clouded Mark's mind. All he could concentrate on was Jackson's extraterrestrial face. 

"Mark…" a hand clawed at Mark's shoulder, leaving red scratches behind, "the crow…"

Mark's whole body tensed when he slowly let go of Jackson and straightened himself. The bird was standing on his window still and watching. Mark has chosen his path already; there was no way to go back without leaving scars on Jackson's soul forever. Mark pulled his shirt over his head and threw it at the bird that protested before it flew away.

"What is going on?" Jackson asked, his cheeks colored with red. 

"It's raining, and the animals are searching for shelters," Mark smiled before he wrapped his fingers around the base of Jackson's cock and started to move his palm. "Don't worry about it, love. The animals are used that they always can find shelter with me…"

"I'm sorry, I didn't…" Jackson licked his dry lips, "it felt weird it…"

"It's alright." Mark swallowed him back with these words, and this time, he didn't stop until Jackson was crying his name and coming into his mouth. 

The messenger said: _when the light is high in the sky, sent the prince back home._ But the heavy clouds shielded the sun and pointed at the slip of the king's logic. Mark knew he's stretching his luck wide, that he should stop, should find his senses, and be reasonable, but not even Jackson protested when Mark easied into him when he held his legs open and slowly moved when he gave Jackson the best pleasure he could ever experience. 

Mark could fight against the fate he had chosen before, he could ignore the signs that tried to allure him back, but it was Jackson who held tightly onto his body, who pressed his thighs against Mark's side, who clawed his nails into the soft skin on Mark's back. It was Jackson who anchored him and didn't want him to move and leave. 

"My…" Jackson closed his eyes, biting into Mark's shoulder, "it feels so _good…"_

" _You_ feel perfect." it was a pure madness leaving Mark's mouth, keeping him in delirium and use words he would never use with anyone. 

Their lovemaking seemed endless, as if something gave Mark the last chance to step back and fix things. But Mark knew that the crow was not a bad sign; it showed him what side he has chosen and that the underworld, the path of dirt, blood, and war, has opened to him. The evil set its eye in his direction. 

"I want to…" Jackson tightened around him, desperately clawing into Mark's skin. It felt like he was stuck at the peak.

Mark held his face between his palms, moving urgently, his hips slapping against Jackson's ass, "my love…" 

Jackson's eyes were filled with unshed tears, and his mouth agape. He couldn't handle it anymore, didn't know what to do or how to help Mark, who decided to prolonge the sweet torturing by sucking a bruise on Jackson's neck. The flower slipped from behind Jackson's ear when he gave Mark more space to claim his neck. 

"You're so powerful yet so soft… I can't…" Mark felt like melting between Jackson's legs and become one with him. Never in his life, he felt so warm and on the brink. 

Jackson suddenly move, the words perhaps triggered something in him, and soon, Mark found himself on his back with Jackson straddling his hips. It was as if a whole new wave of energy transgressed his body. Mark couldn't believe that someone suffering so much in the past days was now full of life and strength. 

"You're perfect…" Mark put his hands on Jackson's hip bones, completely mesmerized by the prince's body proportions. 

"I'm a fast learner…" Jackson picked up the flower and tangled it between the hair behind his ear. 

"Jackson…" he sighed lovingly, "you…"

"I know…" these were Jackson's last words before he gripped the base of Mark's cock and pushed him into his body at once. 

The rain stopped, and the clouds started to tear away and uncovered the skies' blue patches. Birds have returned into the threes, and the sunlight illuminated the droplets of sweet on Jackson's body. His moves were nothing but sinful. The grind of Jackson's hips were pushing and pulling Mark, leaving him idealess and stripped of his _alchemist title._

It was unlike him to beg and cry in pleasure.

Perhaps he has forgotten that he was a human too. 

He held onto Jackson, forcing him to stay in one place when he felt his orgasm building. When his selfishness has turned into possessiveness? Mark came with a loud groan, painting the inner walls of Jackson. No, he won't let go _ever…_

Mark wrapped his arms around Jackson when he collapsed spent on his body. 

"You're incredible, your majesty…"

Jackson giggled, " _shush…"_

**

It didn't escape Jackson's attention to how Mark smiled while cleaning that particular part of his body. And to be honest, Mark didn't even try to hide it when he pushed his fingers inside. Jackson let him do whatever he wanted while he was casually turning the pages of the book that Mark had read him while Jackson was still recovering. It was a beautiful sight, domestic and full of love, which for a moment, left Mark dreaming of a peaceful life with Jackson. 

"Have you finished the book already?" Jackson asked, contouring a picture of a dragon with his finger. 

Mark kissed his left ass-cheek, "many times." 

They still had an hour until noon, so Mark was trying to take the best, which, in his case, was touching and kissing Jackson all over his body. 

"I don't know how you are doing it," Mark spooned him from behind, "alluring me with each of your moves." He kissed his shoulder and rested his palm on Jackson's side. 

"I honestly think that you're just horny." The prince answered casually, flipping through the pages.

"Look at you. Just a few hours ago, you were scared to say _dick."_

Jackson laughed at that, "I was not! Don't lie!" he pinched Mark's hand. 

"Fine, _fine_ …" Mark buried his face in the crook of Jackson's neck, kissing him.

"Next time, it's my turn," Jackson let him taste and bit his skin until Mark started to whine about how delicate yet muscled Jackson is. "You're so weird." He laughed.

"I like that you can hold me and snap me into two by the same hands." He sucked at Jackson's earlobe, "I love you." 

Jackson hummed, "when you started to feel like this?"

It was an expectable question, but Mark didn't want to give a reply about how destiny put them together, and Mark simply _knew_ his whole life he's going to fall for the prince. It felt arranged and forced, which was not true at all. Though Mark _knew,_ he had no idea how it would be to feel love for Jackson, to hold him in his arms, he has a chance to change their lives by rejecting Jackson. How could he explain it to Jackson? 

"Do you believe in fate?"

"Of course."

"Well," Mark caressed the soft skin on Jackson's side, "I believe we're meant to be."

Jackson looked at him over his shoulder, "what are you saying? That it was love at first sight?" 

"In my case, yes." 

They got comfortable after that, Jackson reading for Mark, who was kissing all the skin he could reach. As the chapter was about to end, the sun rose on the top of the sky, announcing Jackson's time. Maybe if Mark would draw the curtains closer, he could trick the world again and steal another moment for himself. But he didn't change his path only to become a jumpy cat now. He was ready to help Jackson to defeat any danger. 

"You're so soft," Mark purred when his fingers ran across Jackson's abdomen, brushing the pubic hair with the pads of his fingers, "how are you so strong and yet so soft…"

"I'm unique," a chuckle left Jackson's lips before he closed the book. He hooked his arm behind Mark's neck to pull him into a kiss. 

"You are mine," Mark emphasized with biting into Jackson's bottom lip, "remember that no matter what will happen to us, we belong to each other."

Their looks met, Jackson worried one filled Mark with the desire to split his heart and pour out the whole truth. He cupped Jackson's cheek and kissed him again. 

"Stay gentle and loving."

"You don't have to worry about that." Jackson stroked Mark's hand and leaned against it before he angled his head to place a kiss into his palm.

All Mark could think about was how precious, and rare Jackson's whole being was in a world full of sardonic people. From all the signs Mark had ever seen, Jackson was the brightest one – a reassurance of a bright future. 

"Remember when I came to visit you in the castle for the first time?" Mark smiled, "you brought me into the garden to show me the peacocks." 

"And you acted all surprised like you have never seen such birds," Jackson laughed.

"I told you about dragons."

"I still love dragons," Jackson's eyes sparkled, "if I could, I swear…"

"You'll be riding one, I know." Mark pulled Jackson forward, so he had to roll on his back.

Jackson might have been innocent, but he was not naïve or stupid. When the prince laced their fingers together wordlessly, Mark knew he's thinking about what is waiting for him outside. There will be no one like Mark, holding him lovingly and whispering the dirtiest words with the purest release promise. 

"Your highness!" Jaebeom's voice interrupted the silence, "it's _time."_

Before they left the bed, Mark reached for a gold circle pendant on a gold chain. It was similar jewelry to the one Mark gave him during the fight. He put it over Jackson's head and pressed the gold circle to his chest.

"Never put it down."

"I promise."

Mark helped Jackson dress and tie every lace on his clothes, and when it came to putting on the boots, Mark kneeled before him and tied it with careful tugs and pulls. He straightened the fabric of Jackson's pants with his palms but got lost in the heat of the moment when his hands couldn't stop touching. With a low whimper, he pressed his face in Jackson's lower stomach.

"Be careful out there, I beg you!" Mark held him close, "the enemy is powerful, the dark magic is nothing we can take lightly…"

"I know," Jackson ran his fingers through Mark's hair, "I know the enemy is pure evil." 

"Zeref will not stop," Mark sat on the back of his heels, his hands sliding down from Jackson's body, "he's an occultist, a necromancer." 

Jackson crouched, "but I have you," he poked Mark's nose with a smile, "if he wants a war, well… nobody can stop him, you know it as well as me."

"But still—" 

"Mark…" Jackson cupped his neck, "I'm not a boy anymore." 

"He tried to kill you! And he would succeed if your father—"

"As I said: I'm _not worried because I have you."_

They refused to say goodbye. After exchanging kisses and hugs, Mark saw Jackson off. The horse was already waiting for the prince with Nyx sitting by its leg and mewling, satisfied by the events' turn. She licked her paw when Jaebeom suddenly appeared and grabbed her. Nyx purred in his arms and let him nuzzle his nose into her soft fur. Why were the toughest men always the most delicate? 

"Next time, you'll tell me about Nyx," Jackson got on his horse swiftly, as if he wasn't on the brink of death just two weeks ago. 

Nyx pointed her ears and glared at Mark, who ignored her smoldering look. Jaebeom lowered her on the grass. He didn't hesitate to grab Mark's shoulder and pull him into a brotherly hug. He patted his shoulder and thanked him silently with his eyes. 

"See you, alchemist." 

"I'm sure…" Mark smiled at the guardian who mounted on his horse. 

"And don't fall asleep next to the fire! It's dangerous!" he drove his horse into a gallop, and the group followed him. 

"Bye…" Jackson sent Mark a flying kiss before he turned his horse and followed the rest of the soldiers. 

"I bet Jaebeom saw that…" Mark smirked as he watched the group distancing with each second until he couldn't recognize their figures anymore. They got lost behind the trees and valley. 

It was the look of devotion, bravery in a straightforward gesture that made Mark's heart flutter and try to leave the cage of his ribs. Though it hurt to see Jackson leaving him behind, their paths will soon cross, and Mark will be forced to leave his cozy shop. As long as he walked side-by-side with Jackson, he was ready to abandon everything.

Nyx brushed against his ankle, purring. 

"Yeah, you've got what you wanted." Mark smiled and picked her up, "guess we have work to do, Nyx."

The cat rested her head on Mark's shoulder, and before Mark closed the door from the outside world, her eyes, just for a slight moment, turned from green to red embers. 

_The world was about to burn._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope you liked it as much as I did ♥  
> thank you for your comments & ♥♥ these are the best.  
> as I said earlier, I left the ending open. So, if you have any questions, I'll more than happy to answer ♥

**Author's Note:**

> Ay, guys, I am so happy. I actually like this.  
> Leave comments, I love comments a lot. It's like you pay me in actual money. that good it is. I hope you liked it too. I know it lacks things - I would certainly do it a bit differently if my English was better! 
> 
> BTW: I wanted to use JYP as the villain in this story, but I felt weird. Like ahgase would punch me virtually for even mentioning him.
> 
> I have to say that the story ends with a lot of secrets uncovered so don't be shy to ask me!


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